


A Ship of Dreams

by Angeltree16



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Aaron Burr Being an Asshole, Alexander Hamilton Being an Asshole, Alternate Universe - Titanic Fusion, Angst, But He Gets Better, But a lovable one, F/F, F/M, Feels, Fluff, Hamilton Being Hamilton, Hamilton and Jefferson are Clueless, Human Disaster Aaron Burr, Human Disaster Alexander Hamilton, Hurt, Hurt Alexander Hamilton, Hurt Thomas Jefferson, Hurt/Comfort, I Will Go Down With This Ship, James Madison is a Precious Baby, James and Eliza are Little Shits, Jamilton - Freeform, Jefferson was Adopted, Lawyer Aaron Burr, M/M, Madison is his Little Brother, Protective Thomas Jefferson, Romance, Thomas Jefferson Being an Asshole, Titanic AU, Tragedy, and a stalker, so many feels, sorry aaron
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-09-13
Packaged: 2018-12-05 12:26:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11578065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angeltree16/pseuds/Angeltree16
Summary: The Jamilton Titanic AU no one asked for, but I desperately needed.-Thomas was the adopted son of a floundering lawyer.Alexander was an orphan with a sharp tongue and a knack for making enemies.They met at the bow of a ship.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, I was looking for Hamilton Titanic AU's and I was surprised to see how few there were. I couldn't find a single Jamilton one, which made me kinda sad, so I'm writing one. 
> 
> Settle in kids, this is gonna be quite a ride.

1995

John Laurens squeezed his eyes shut as the salty sea breeze whipped through his hair. He grinned as the sea craft crested a wave, dipping slightly and causing his stomach to jolt gleefully. 

“John, _mon ami_ , we will be launching soon!”

“Yeah Jack, get your ass down here!”

John grinned, bounding down a short flight of stairs into the lower deck of the small vessel. Grabbing the wall on his way down, he whipped around the corner with a smile.

“Today’s the day boys. I can feel it.”

Hercules Mulligan rolled his eyes, disbelieving, but grinning none the less as he made final adjustments to the smaller craft that would take them below the surface. John always had a horribly infectious good mood.

Behind him, Gilbert Lafayette mumbled a joyful little song in French, as he navigated their current vessel and absently glanced at the small screen displaying a readout from the ship’s forward-scan sonar of the ocean floor, over two miles below them. 

“ _Oui_ John, how you say, ninth time’s the charm?”

“That it is Laf, that it is!”

_Ping_

Lafayette’s eyes snapped back to the screen and he clapped his hands together. 

“We are here.”

Mulligan let out a little whimper. John turned to face him, concerned.

“What’s wrong, Herc?”

“I just…I’m going to be stuck in this little pod for at least ten hours.”

Laf swiveled in his seat. “I did not know you were claustrophobic, _mon ami?”_

Herc pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m not. I’m going to be stuck in a pod for ten hours…with you two. God help me.”

Laf sat back with a laugh, spinning his swivel chair. “Ah, but _Hercule_ , your life would be so boring without us.”

Mulligan’s lips twitched. “It’d be more peaceful that's for sure.”

“You hate peace.”

“I’ve never had it, how would I know?”

The two continued their banter as they climbed into the small sub, a smiling Laurens shaking his head behind them.

—

“Take the camera, Herc.”

“Why?”

“For posterity! History will look back on this day, I promise you that, so we must capture this moment.”

“John, you’re wearing sweatpants.”

“I-I don’t care.”

“Are you sure you wish to be immortalized in sweatpants?”

“Laf, stay out of this. Herc, just run the camera.”

Hercules smirked as he lifted the small camcorder and John struck a dramatic pose near the small window, shielded in thick glass.

“It still gets me every time…”

“What, the water pressure?”

John scowled and made a grab for the camera. Hercules held it above his head and John chuckled, mumbling, “asshole.” John jumped, catching the camera in his hand, and sticking his tongue out at Mulligan, before returning to his window.

“It still gets m—Laf stop laughing! It still gets me every time. Seeing the sad ruin of the great ship, a ghost of her former self, entombed in a watery grave where she landed at 2:30 in the morning, April 15, 1912 after her long fall from the world above.”

Laurens turned away from the camera, theatrically. He heard a sniffle off to the side. He turned to see his friends clutching their hearts and fanning their faces.

“That was beautiful, Jack.”

“Why do I put up with you two?”

The pair grinned impishly as they set to work preparing the ROV for launch. John turned back to the camera. 

“In just a few moments, we’ll be taking the ROV out for a spin on the B deck, where most of the first class rooms once were. Hopefully, we’ll have more success here.”

“Alright, good to go.” Mulligan finished inputing the last bit of new navigation programming, something they had sorely needed, apparently, especially after the bathtub incident of last Thursday. 

Lafayette sat at the complex looking controls, the tip of his tongue peeking from the corner of his mouth, as he carefully maneuvered the ROV, that Laf had insisted they name Spot, into the wreckage, watching the live video feed.

“Easy, easy.”

“ _Hercule_ , stop backseat driving!”

“You’re gonna hit the doorframe. Shit! Like that!”

“Barely a scratch.”

“The ship’s really old Laf and ROV’s don’t exactly grow on trees, you know.”

“Do not worry. I will not throw away our Spot.”

Mulligan winced as a chunk of rusted metal was ripped away and floated through the small room. John smiled at their bickering as he gazed at the screen before his eyes narrowed.

“Laf, wait! Go back.”

As the camera spun, his eyes landed on a door resting on the floor, leaning slightly ajar.

“Lift the door.”

Spot’s robotic arm extended and flipped the ancient piece of polished wood. Herc winced, but the door was soon forgotten as he saw what lay underneath. As the cloud of silt cleared, a dark object came into view. A safe.

Hercules felt his jaw drop open. Lafayette cried out with glee. John clapped his hands on his friends’ shoulders.

“It’s payday boys!”

—

Hauling the safe back to the surface was no easy task, but so worth it to see what lay within. At least in John’s mind. 

As the metal box, red with rusted grime was pulled from the sea, Lafayette popped open a bottle of champagne. Some may have said it was premature, but he had a right to be excited. This was the fruit of their effort. Their mutual goal these past three years. So, damn right they were excited! Even Hercules let out giddy laughs every now and then.

As the hinges of the safe were drilled, the three toasted their glasses. As the metal door fell away, Laurens hopped forward excitedly. He sifted through the contents for a moment, before his shoulders slumped.

Hercules stepped forward. “John?”

Laurens only shook his head.

Herc sighed. “Shit.”

John pulled out some old, sodden papers. Some money. A few letters. Old bonds that weren’t worth a thing. He sighed. Back to square one.

—

The news crew had arrived by the time the restorers from several museums had set up by the dock, trying to save the documents. John moped a few feet away from them. Whenever a reporter came up to him, he tried to be accommodating and not lose his temper, but it was so damn frustrating. They had nothing. Nothing! 

Behind him, he could hear Laf scuffling around the restorers, trying to see what they had found.

He grunted, annoyed, as yet another news van came into view and a bleach blond reporter scurried towards him.

“Mister Laurens, may I have a word?!”

“No.”

“If the pin wasn’t in the safe, do you think it’s out there at all?”

“I—“

“John!”

Laurens turned on his heel at Lafayette’s excited shout. It was filled with…hope. He quickly jogged over.

“Look at this.”

John looked. A letter, still spotted with grime floated underneath a clear solution. The writing was small, cramped, and elegant. At the top left corner was a detailed sketch of a delicate, silvery brooch inlaid with a dark stone on a man’s lapel. The words, though smeared and blurred, were still eligible in parts. John could make out the words “Heart of the Ocean” and “beautiful” without much difficulty. He let out a gasping laugh.

“I’ll be God damned.”

—

“I’ll be God damned.”

“Grandpa?”

“Annie, could you come in here for a moment.”

Annie entered the room to see her grandfather had dropped his copy of the Odyssey, in the original Latin of course, in favor of staring wide eyed at their small television. Annie’s brow creased. Her grandfather hated television. ’The death of intelligence’ he called it. ‘And the harbinger of migraines.’

Seeing the ailing old man staring at the screen so was…odd.

“Annie.” He breathed her name in a whisper.

“I’m here grandpa, what’s wrong?”

He pointed a shaking finger towards the screen. A news broadcast was showing some documents recovered from the wreckage of the Titanic. Annie’s eyes widened. Her grandfather had been a survivor of the wreck. This had to be terribly stressful for him. She moved to turn off the offending machine before a wrinkled hand closed around her wrist with a hushed, “no.” She glanced back, startled. He released her after a moment, wringing his hands. 

“Could you get me the phone sweetheart?”

Annie nodded mutely, slightly stunned, and passed him the landline.

—

“Oh, this is fantastic!” 

“John, phone for you.”

“Not now, Herc.”

“I really think you’ll want to talk to this guy.”

John tore his gaze away from the letter and drawing reluctantly, as he was handed the phone.

“Hello.” 

“Hello, Mr. Laurens, is it?”

“Yes sir, but I really don’t have time to answer any—“

“I was wondering if you had found ‘the Heart of the Ocean’ yet, Mr. Laurens.”

John felt his fingers go slack around the receiver and fumbled for a moment so as not to drop it. Mulligan nodded knowingly.

“Alright sir, you have my attention. Can you tell me anything about the letter?”

“Of course. I was there when it was written.”

—

“Are we really sure about this guy?”

“Herc, you’re the one who told me to hear him out.”

“I know, but—“

“So, let’s hear him out.”

Mulligan growled sourly behind him as the helicopter landed. A woman in her mid-thirties hopped out and reached back to retrieve a wheelchair. Setting it down, she offered her arm to a positively ancient man as he struggled down the steps. He smiled at her, deep lines etched in his face. Long curls of white and silver hair were tied back in a small ponytail that floated like smoke in the slight breeze as the girl wheeled him forward.

John met them halfway, Hercules trailing behind. He extended a hand and a warm smile towards the man who shook it with surprising force. 

“Hello, Mr. Jefferson.”  


“Mr. Laurens. This is my granddaughter, Annie.” 

The woman shook his hand in kind. There was a dark look in her eyes that said she did not wish for her grandfather to be here. 

“Would you care to get some rest after your long flight. It is a ways from Virginia.” He hoped to appease the scary woman. The man looked up at him.

“I would prefer to see the letters.” 

—

John stood back as the old man stared down at the letters, a wistful smile crossing his face. Herc and Laf stood off to the side, pretending to adjust equipment as they watched him. The granddaughter scowled in the corner.

At last, the man sighed and turned to face the trio. 

“I suppose you have questions then?”

John walked forward, stuttering slightly. “Uh, y-yes. You see, this letter is dated April 14, 1912, meaning it was written the day the ship was lost. If you were there when this letter was written, you’re our best shot at knowing what happened to the diamond.”

“Dreadfully heavy thing. I pinned it on and my whole jacket drooped.”

The room became deadly silent as the trio stared, mouths agape. 

“Y-you?”

“Yes, yes Mr. Laurens I wore it once. A long time ago. It’s not really of much consequence. Now, if you would care to show me more of your operation here, I’d be much obliged.”

The three treasure hunters and Annie nodded mutely, trailing after the old man as he wheeled himself inside.

On a small table rested a few other artifacts recovered from the ship. John watched as the man stood on unsteady legs, shuffling towards the objects. He picked up a tarnished piece of silver about the size of his hand; the head of an elegant cane. His fingers trembled and the handle fell back on the table as his hands covered his face and he let out a small sob. Annie rushed forward, settling him back in the wheelchair.

“Grandpa, maybe you should go rest.”

“No.”

“Come on.”

“No! I’ve been resting too long Annette. Resting for what seems my whole life. I will not rest now.”

John stepped forward. “Really, Mr. Jefferson, you don’t have to.”

“No, Mr. Laurens, I don’t. I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to. I want this.” The old man raised his chin defiantly. “Now, I’d be most interested to see what you have to say on this subject Mr. Mulligan.”

“I, uh…”

“You are the resident expert, are you not?”

Poor Hercules nodded quickly, gesturing vaguely towards a computer on the far wall, a simulation displayed on it. Jefferson nodded graciously, wheeling his way over.

Hercules spent the next ten minutes giving a thorough and clinical account of the sinking of the ship, becoming more comfortable as time went on.

“The stern bobs for a few minutes, before going under around 2:20 AM on the morning of the 15th, two hours and forty minutes after the collision."

Jefferson raised an eyebrow. “Thank you, Mr. Mulligan for that very scientific assessment. I must say, however, the experience of it was…quite different.”

John leaned forward. “Could you tell us?”

The old man closed his eyes. “It’s been eighty-three years.”

“That’s alright, anything you can remember—”

His eyes snapped open. “Do you want to hear this story or not, Mr. Laurens?”

John clamped his jaw shut.

“It’s been eighty-three years, but I can still smell the fresh paint. The china had never been used. The sheets had never been slept in.

Titanic was called the ship of dreams.

And oh, what a dream it was.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! This chapter took a while.

1912

Thomas Jefferson opened the carriage door into the crowded dock, hopping the last step and narrowly missing a puddle of grime. He stumbled for a moment, scuffing his shoes, before using an ornate cane to right himself. Sniffing at the air, he turned back to the carriage where his little brother, positively green with motion sickness, was fumbling for the door latch to balance himself. 

“Do you smell that, Jemmy?”

James looked up, eyes bleary as he stood, hunched, trying to settle his weak stomach.

“The salt and manure?”

Thomas smirked. “Exactly. They can dress it up however they want, but this old wreck’s no better than any other.”

He heard a scoff behind him.

“Your fiancee is far too difficult to impress, Miss Schuyler.”

Angelica smiled tightly as Aaron Burr, her father’s reserved, yet polite, business partner extended a hand to help her down from the carriage. She frowned as he gripped her hand a moment too long. Drawing it back slowly, she moved towards a second carriage where her younger sisters were emerging. His eyes followed her.

“Indeed. You boys needn’t resign yourselves to fates of boredom. Titanic shall be quite a marvel, I promise you.”

The younger men turned at the booming voice as James Madison, the Elder, stepped from the adjacent carriage. Smiling warmly at his sons and wrapping an arm around each of them, he turned towards the hulking ship.

“You two can be blasé about many things, but not about Titanic.”

The pair exchanged a look. They took that as a challenge. 

“It is the largest and most luxurious craft at sea, unmatched by any before.”

“They say it is unsinkable.” The small, steady voice drew their attention to the youngest daughter of Philip Schuyler as she peered at them, inquiringly. Mr. Madison chuckled deeply.

“Indeed Miss Margaret, God himself could not sink her.”

Thomas rolled his eyes at his father. “Any decent storm could sink her.”

“You needn’t be so spiteful, Mr. Jefferson.” Thomas glowered as he met Burr’s hard eyes. He would be as spiteful as he wished. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted his “fiancee” and her sisters grinning at his obvious pout. He crossed his arms, causing Angelica and Eliza to chuckle softly, and he almost swore he heard Peggy snort. Thomas smiled in spite of himself. 

He had befriended the rambunctious trio at the age of eleven, often finding himself gossiping mindlessly with little Peggy, being softly scolded by Eliza when he spoke carelessly, and debating with Angelica for hours on end. He loved them like sisters.

As Angelica approached him, he extended a gracious elbow. She looped her arm through his and grinned as they walked a little distance from the others. 

“You are insufferable, Tom. If you are to antagonize Mr. Burr for the whole of the voyage, he’s liable to toss himself to the sea.”

Jefferson mumbled lowly. “What a crime that would be.”

Angelica scowled, slapping at his arm playfully. “He’s a decent man, Thomas, and he’s done you no wrong.”

“You’ve said yourself, you dislike him.”

Angelica glanced over her shoulder and whispered, conspiratorially. “I dislike all associates of my father. They are all too often arrogant asses with too much ambition and too little ability.”

“They’re lawyers.” 

“Your father is a lawyer, Thomas.”

“And for all I love the man, he is no less incompetent.”

“Ah, but a good man he is.” Angelica paused as her smile slipped. “Something in Burr unnerves me,Tom; more than any other. Perhaps it’s how little he speaks, but it always seems as though he is watching. Watching and waiting. For what, I do not know.”

Thomas growled in the back of his throat. “He seems to have taken a liking to watching you.”

Angelica raised her eyebrows at him. “Why, Mr. Jefferson, I never took you for the jealous type.”

They both laughed at the thought. They both knew where they stood in that regard. 

“And what are you two laughing about?” Mr. Madison approached, James in tow. 

“The likelihood that barnacles have already attached to the ship.”

Madison rolled his eyes good-naturedly at his son. “Well then, we might as well go and see how many we can find.” He gently pushed the pair towards the ship as James walked at a leisurely pace behind while the two younger Schuylers scurried after them, their long gowns catching about their legs. From behind them all, Aaron Burr watched. 

—

As Thomas boarded the ship, his family and their baggage in tow, he found himself grudgingly accepting that Titanic was indeed grand. Sweeping staircases loomed around him in dark patterns of mahogany. Gleaming marble clicked beneath his heels and chandeliers shone brilliantly, reflecting the light of the glass dome overhead in thousands of crystals. He passed doors en route to his quarters that seemed to open into larger and larger richly decorated atriums of dining and dancing and other respectable activity. 

Yes, Titanic was indeed a marvel. Not that Thomas would ever admit it. 

He squinted, trying to find flaw in the sconces above, as he distractedly rounded a corner. A sudden solid weight slammed into him, wrenching his arm from Angelica’s and sending him sprawling to the floor. He caught a pair of wide, flashing eyes and a shock of dark auburn hair, before the figure that had so gracelessly landed atop him was up and running again with a murmured apology. He huffed as his father helped him to his feet and James began fussing over the state of him, all the while barely concealing a snicker. Peggy did not even attempt to hide her laughter, even as Angelica chided her.

Thomas heard his father mutter something about, “young fools,” and, “bloody pickpockets,” as Burr quickly ushered them along, not wishing to make a spectacle. 

Jefferson wasn’t sure what compelled him to glance over his shoulder at the space where the assailant had been.

—

Thomas flung himself onto the soft mattress of his bed, half dressed for dinner, and bemoaned his fate. 

“Is this all that life will be, Jems? Parties and riches and pre-destined engagements?”

James rolled his eyes, his back to his brother as he adjusted his bowtie in a mirror and coughed into his sleeve. “There are worse fates to be had, Tom.”

Thomas sat up with a huff. “I know, James, I know. Angelica and I have an arrangement of sorts and shall maintain our freedom, such as it is. I just feel as though I will be…missing something.”

He stood up to grab an ivory comb and ran it through his impossibly bushy hair in an attempt to tame it.

“Why did father not choose you to marry?”

James turned at his brother’s hushed voice. Thomas’s gaze was vacant. When his eyes snapped back, he offered a small smile.

“Not that I really mind Jems, Angie is a lovely woman, after all. I just…wondered.”

James turned back to face the mirror. “You are the eldest, Tom”

“I’m adopted, James. You’re his true-born son, his real legacy.”

James sighed. “Father never—He hasn’t much faith in me is all. You’ve always been the leader, Tom, and I, the follower.”

Thomas snorted. “And what of when you inherit the company, Jemmy?” 

James shook his head. “I would lead the business to ruin. Besides…father does not expect me to live long enough to see that day.”

James caught the reflection of his brother’s stricken face in the mirror. “You needn’t look so shocked, Tom. We both know the state of my health will scarcely see me through another year.”

Thomas cringed at the matter-of-fact tone as his brother straightened his jacket.

“Don’t say that.” The words came out in a broken whisper, startling James into turning his head. “Don’t ever say that.” In a few long, quick strides, Jefferson had his brother enveloped in a firm hug, desperately squeezing his eyes against burning tears. James patted his back gently, and Thomas hated how patronizing it felt. As though he were simply denying the inevitable. 

At length, he stepped back, firmly grasping his ailing brother’s shoulders and looking him dead in the eye. 

“You will outlive us all, James, you will—“ The words caught in his throat as he saw the resignation in his baby brother’s eyes. Eyes that were far too tired for a man of his scarce years. A sob began to build in Jefferson as James stepped away with a small smile, quietly suggesting they finish getting ready before dinner.

—

Thomas was sullen and quiet as the pair made their way towards the grand dining saloon, a firm grip on his brother’s elbow, as James stumbled like a newborn colt. Righting himself, James wondered at his elder brother’s behavior. Even prior to his adoption, he and Tom had been friends, and James had always been such a sickly child. Surely, Thomas had known…

James shook his head sadly, finding the slight movement made his head spin, he closed his eyes firmly, grasping Tom’s forearm to steady himself. He released a breath that he had meant to keep level, but came out like a death rattle. He opened tired eyes, glancing up at his brother’s heartbroken expression. He had never seen the man so helpless. He tried to smile reassuringly, but he was sure it came across as a forced wobble of his lips. James tugged at Thomas’s arm weakly to force them into movement again. 

Thomas obliged. 

They slipped down a hallway, back into the vast, domed foyer where richly dressed aristocrats meandered in the general direction of a pair of mahogany and brass doors, held open by bowing crewmen with stiff backs and stiffer smiles. James nodded kindly as they passed the men who would likely hold the door all their lives and never themselves be invited in. 

A loud voice called from across the dining hall drawing the attention of the two men towards a table on the far wall. A hulk of a man half-stood, staring down his long, pointed nose at the pair. Philip Schuyler cut quite the imposing figure. As a child, James had feared Mr. Schuyler was a giant who would feast upon his bones, despite dear Eliza’s reassurances. As a man of slight stature and nervous disposition, James found the presence of Mr. Schuyler, who towered over even Thomas, unnerved him to this day.

Sitting beside the prominent lawyer, their own father appeared weak and small. At the sight of his father, James quickly released Thomas’s arm, hobbling towards the table under his own power. It would not do to appear weak in front of father and their guests. Behind him, he could sense Thomas’s frown. Rather than acknowledge his brother’s concern, he faced the others, smiling brightly. Father grinned back, but his eyes were set on a point over James’s shoulder. 

“Ah, Thomas, my boy, glad you could join us! Take a seat, son.”

James kept his gaze downcast as Thomas took a seat beside their father, sitting by Tom himself. Across the table, Eliza sent him a questioning look. He shook his head softly. No need to involve her. 

_His Eliza._

James sighed quietly. No point in entertaining the thought. No point at all. The best he could hope for, was seeing those he loved most, happy and content with someone who deserved their love. 

Angelica, he knew, would find her own happiness and little Peggy was still young and may yet find her own way. And Eliza, tenderhearted Lizzie, who was, in James’s mind, as perfect as the dolls they’d played with when they were small; she could find happiness in the darkest of places.

It was Thomas he truly worried for. In Angelica he would find companionship, but not love. Social as he was, even in a room full of people he would seem to be entirely alone. He opened his heart to a select few, guarding himself carefully against loss as he had suffered after the fire that had claimed the lives of his parents and siblings. 

James counted himself lucky to be one of the individuals Thomas loved and trusted. He wondered now if Thomas regretted that decision. He wondered if everyone had. James subtly pushed away the bowl of hearty soup, finding he had quickly lost his meager appetite. He opted instead to sip at a glass of water, avoiding Eliza’s concerned gaze and ignoring Peggy’s attempts to get his attention by kicking him. He stared out past the delicate bronze lattice-work of a window, into the open sea. In the moonlight, the waves undulated, silver and dark and deadly as the tide picked up. Most would hardly notice the slight rocking of the ship that followed, but to James, the ship may as well have been caught in a storm. 

James gripped the edge of the table, hard, his throat burning suddenly with water and bile. All at once he felt feverish and cold, his head spinning. He stood from the table, quickly made his excuses and stumbled from the room onto the deck. He barely registered the sound of footsteps following. 

—

Thomas cut himself off mid sentence as James abruptly stood, his face ashen. His brother mumbled incoherently before turning towards the exit, tripping as he went. Thomas watching him with mounting concern. Beside him, their father sighed, embarrassed into his brandy.

“Boy’s got a weak stomach.”

Mr. Schuyler grunted in response. Thomas scowled darkly before standing to follow his little brother. Stepping outside, a cold breeze buffeted his face, his hair drifting into his eyes. He grumbled, pulling it back away from his face and stuffing the majority of it into the collar of his dress shirt. He scanned the shadowed edge of the dock, finding the odd passenger, but no sign of James. He set of at a brisk pace, sparing no time for pleasantries with those who greeted him. No small amount of panic came over him as he neared the end of the deck, only to hear painful retching. Anxiety rolled in his gut as he bounded up a short flight of stairs to see a hunched figure gagging over the railing. Heart aching with pity, he slowly approached the younger man, rubbing his back soothingly. James tensed for a moment, before glancing back gratefully. Thomas smiled sadly, as he began to retch again.

“You shouldn’t do that.”

Thomas jumped, startled, as he whipped his head around to see a man emerge from the shadows. He was small, smaller than James even, his patched, faded-green coat nearly swallowing him in its folds. He gazed at the pair nonchalantly with tired eyes, his hands stuffed in pockets with bits of old paper sticking out of them. He quirked his head, and a strand of tangled auburn hair fell into his eyes. 

Thomas huffed. “Pardon me, sir, but this is really none of your business.”

“I’m serious.” The stranger meandered casually towards them. “At this speed and with these winds, you could be pushed right over. I recommend you go find a big silver bowl to vomit into. By the looks of you, you can afford it.”

This man was truly staring to annoy Thomas. “Sir, I don’t—“

A sharp wind blew at their backs. James gasped as he lost his footing, grabbing desperately at Thomas’s shirt. The sudden weight made him stumble, his foot catching on the base of the rail. Thomas and James screamed as they fell.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is really short, I'm sorry. It took me over a month to write this and I will never understand why.

Terror gripped Thomas’s heart as the wind whistled around him, snatching his breath from his lips, still parted in a silent scream. His vision filled with an expanse of rippling, black water, a hundred feet below and endlessly deep. The gentle waves seemed to reach up, desperate to claim him. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t breathe. _He couldn't breathe…_

His elbow banged into the edge of the railing. Hot pins raced up his arm and he tightened his hand reflexively around an icy metal rung. His body jolted as he came up short, nearly pulling his arm from it’s socket. Thomas grit his teeth against the pain of at least a few torn muscles as he heaved up his other arm to hang from the rail. He dangled for a moment, calming his racing heart as he regained his bearings. 

James was nowhere in sight.

The panic returned full force leaving Thomas breathless as he twisted to look for his brother in the waves below, paying no mind to the ache in his injured shoulder. A movement above and a small grunt drew his attention to a pair of flailing legs a foot above his head, draped over the rail. As they toppled over onto the deck, Thomas heard an unmistakable wheeze. James was safe. His momentary joy was ruined by the sight of that annoying little man coming into view. 

“Take my hand!” 

Thomas huffed with distaste. 

“I’m too heavy. I’ll pull you over!”

“I’m stronger than I look, just take my hand!”

“I don’t think—“

“Take my hand so I can save your powdered ass, you fucking idiot!” 

Thomas grabbed the man’s outstretched hand, with perhaps a bit more force than was necessary. As expected, the slight man lurched forward, spitting curses through clenched teeth. 

“My God, do you eat gold, or are your pockets just lined with it?!”

Thomas felt a little thrill of satisfaction that he had been right, even as the rational part of him recognized an insult. The more rational fear of falling had completely abandoned him. 

The man puffed out his cheeks in a manner resembling a chipmunk as he planted his feet against the rail, leveraging his weight backwards. 

“Little help here?!”

James jumped, startled from his stupor and, grabbing the back of the guy’s jacket, used what little strength he had to pull Thomas to safety. As Thomas tumbled over the rail, a piece of the worn jacket came away in James’s hand with a soft rip. James fell back with a small yelp and the stranger fell forward into Thomas. They landed in a heap, groaning, and lay there, still panting with exertion, sweat dripping into their hair and eyes. A whistle sounded in the distance along with a cry of, “You there!” Crew members in crisp, white uniforms came into view. A man with side swept hair made his way to the front of the group, eyes narrowing at the scene.

“Arrest him!”

The man, still collapsed on Thomas’s chest sighed with irritation as the men came towards him with bindings. He sat up enough to meet Thomas’s wide eyes. 

“Look what you did!”


End file.
